


good intentions

by diana_hawthorne (stsgirlie)



Category: Law & Order
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-06-07 12:31:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6804466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stsgirlie/pseuds/diana_hawthorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a series of attacks in an apartment building on Beekman Place, Mike Logan and Liz Olivet go undercover to try to discover the perpetrator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The best/worst of the cliched tropes... fake marriage! So please forgive me but there actually aren't that many in the L&O fandom :)

Cragen steps out of his office, hands in his pockets. ‘Phil, Mike, Liz, could you join me in my office? Now?’ he asks, interrupting their conversation. He doesn’t bother to wait for them, simply reenters his office.

She exchanges a glance with Phil as Mike swings his feet off the desk. His chair legs crash loudly on the squad room floor and he stands up with an explosive sigh.

‘I guess we’d better head in,’ Phil says, and she nods, picking up her coffee as she follows them into Cragen’s office. There’s only two chairs in front of his desk; Phil takes one and Mike indicates that she should take the other. Don crosses behind them to close the door and blinds as Mike leans against the window. When they are obscured from the rest of the squad room he walks back to his desk, leaning against it as he looks at them, brow furrowed.

‘So what’s up, Donny?’ Phil asks, leaning back in his chair, hands folded over his belly.

He sighs. ‘We have a… situation.’

‘A “situation”?’ She can hear the faint mocking tone in Mike’s voice, but she doesn’t turn to look at him, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. She can feel his gaze on her and she shivers slightly. Get a grip, Elizabeth, she scolds herself, and turns her attention back to Don.

‘Yeah, a situation, Mikey.’ He sighs again and stuffs his hands in his pockets. ‘There have been two attacks in a Beekman Place building in the past two weeks--both perpetrated by someone inside the building. Neither were life-threatening--yet--but there have been a series of letters sent to this precinct threatening further action.’

They all talk at once.

‘Who was attacked?’ Phil questions.

She says, ‘What do the letters say?’

‘Who’s next?’ Mike asks.

Don picks up a file from his desk and flips it open.

‘The first two people who were attacked were the British Consul’s nanny and the nephew of another family in the building. The letters are here--they all say “beware the rich, always trying to distract us from the real issues, trying to keep us down”--or variations on that theme. They threaten further, violent action against other residents in the building--nonspecifically.’

‘Why isn’t this going to Major Case?’ Phil asks. ‘If this involves the British Consul--’

‘Because the letters have been sent to us, Major Case is overworked, and the Commissioner believes that we can handle it with an undercover operation.’ He closes the file with a thwack. ‘So. Here we are.’

She’s bewildered--why is she here? She twists in her seat to look at Mike; his brow is furrowed in confusion. Phil is leaning forward now, hands on his knees, and when she turns back to look at Don he is regarding her seriously.

‘So, me and Mikey, then?’ Phil asks. ‘What’s the scoop? When do we start?’

‘Actually--not you and Mike. Well, not you.’ He rubs his forehead as though he’s easing a headache, then looks at her. ‘Dr. Olivet, how would you like to help us out?’

She laughs incredulously. ‘What--me? Go undercover?’

‘Yes,’ he replies seriously. ‘We’re clearly dealing with a dangerous individual here. We need your expertise--your background in psychology will allow us to create profiles of each of the suspects, hopefully get us the information we need to narrow the field. The Consul--and the Commissioner--want us to keep this discreet. The suspects in this case are… high-profile, to say the least, so we can’t do traditional interviews. So what we need you to do--you and Mike will go undercover for a few weeks and try to figure out what’s going on, try to get a solid lead for us to follow or, hopefully, evidence. There’s an empty apartment in the building--we’re taking it over and it’ll be ready in a week or so. You two will pose as a wealthy married couple, get to know the other residents, and you’ll profile them. It’s gotta be someone within the building, and we’ve narrowed it down to about twenty suspects based on the times the attacks happened and who was in the building. We have their particulars here.’ He taps another folder on his desk.

She stares at him blankly, trying to take everything in--undercover for a few weeks, posing as Mike’s wife--as Mike begins to pace behind her.

‘Are you serious?’ Mike asks, uncertain.

Cragen looks at both of them. ‘Yes. I know it’s a lot to ask--especially from you, Liz--but it’s really important, and I don’t know who else can do it. We trust you, your judgement. Besides, you have the background for it. You’re gonna be able to get to know these people--you have the credentials; the right family, boarding school… and your godfather lives in the building.’

She wraps her arms around her waist reflexively, surprised that he has that information at his fingertips. She feels odd, like she’s in some sort of nightmare--she can’t take it in, so she focuses on what she can. ‘How do you know that?’

‘Who’s your godfather?’ Mike asks curiously, walking around to look at her. He looks at her intently and she feels the heat rise in her cheeks both at his gaze and his proximity.

‘Peter deVries,’ she says reluctantly, and his eyebrows shoot up.

‘Are you kidding me?’

She swallows, turning her attention back to Cragen. ‘Is Peter in danger?’

‘I think we can safely assume anyone in that building is in danger, your godfather among them.’

She nods, biting her bottom lip. ‘And you really think I can help?’

‘I think that you and Mike are our best shot.’

She looks at Mike, his long, muscled form leaning against the wall, watching her with hooded hazel eyes. Pretending to be his wife… sharing an apartment with him for weeks… What does he think? It’s too tempting to refuse a chance to be close to him, to perhaps get over the inappropriate feelings she’s nurtured for him at last. Familiarity does breed contempt, after all.

‘Okay,’ she says at last, looking back at Don. ‘I’ll do it. But we’ll need to talk to Peter, enlist his help, otherwise it won’t work.’

‘Of course,’ Don agrees, relaxing in relief. ‘And you and Mike will need to get together, come up with a background. We’ll have to provide you with new identities--’

‘That won’t be plausible,’ she interrupts, shaking herself out of her daze. ‘I’ve been in that building many times, the doormen know who I am, and some of the neighbors.’

‘Well, a new identity for Mike, then. And if you know some of the neighbors it’ll be easier for you two to integrate yourselves.’

‘And what can I do?’ Phil asks, speaking for the first time since Don dropped the bombshell.

‘Support,’ he continues. ‘Run background checks on the suspects, help Mike with his identity, the two of them with their background story--I trust you to find the holes in the story, help them fix it.’

‘What’s the timeline? When do you need them to be word-perfect?’

‘Five days. It needs to be flawless,’ he says, looking at the two of them. ‘You need to be believable.’

She nods and looks at Mike, who looks back at her, quirking an eyebrow.

‘When do we start?’ he asks, his eyes still locked on hers.

‘Right now. Take over Interrogation 2, order pizza, Chinese, whatever. I want a full identity for Mike and a history for you both before you leave today, down to where you celebrate birthdays together and what side of the bed you sleep on.’

She flushes at the implication they will be sharing a bed and raises an eyebrow. ‘I hope you understand that I need to keep up my obligations to my patients.’

‘Of course. But is there any way you can consolidate them, keep them to a few mornings or afternoons a week?’

She feels a bubble of indignation but tamps it down quickly--this is why she started working with the precinct, to help people, and if Peter and Miranda are in danger… ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Thanks, Liz,’ Don says, and stands up. ‘Let me know what I can do to help.’

She follows them out of the office, closing the door behind her.

‘I’ll get some notepads, pens; Mikey, you get coffee. We’re gonna be in there a while,’ Phil says.

‘What can I do?’ she asks.

‘I think we’re good, Liz--why don’t you get set up in the interrogation room?’

She nods and does as Phil suggests, feeling oddly self-conscious as she walks down the corridor to the interrogation room. She eases the door open and takes a seat at the table, placing her purse and coat on an empty chair. She rests her head in her hands and rubs her temples, trying to keep this impending headache at bay.

The door bangs open and Mike and Phil come into the room. She looks up and Phil smiles at her reassuringly.

‘Okay, Liz, Mike. You ready to get started?’

She looks over to Mike, who pulls out a chair and leans back. Phil slides legal pads and sheafs of photocopied paper across the table to her and to Mike, along with pens, and she leans forward, resting her elbows on the table.

‘I’m ready. What’s first?’

‘As Donny said, we’re going to need to create a new identity for Mike, including a new name and profession, and we’re going to have to get a lot of information from you. You’ll both have to learn each other’s stories, then we’ll need to draft a backstory for your relationship. You’ll need the accessories--wedding and engagement rings--and we’re gonna have to take you shopping, Mikey,’ he laughs, and Mike glares at him.

She bites her lip to stifle a giggle, relieved that that awful leather coat won’t be making an appearance.

‘I’ve pulled our undercover questionnaires. We’ll need to complete them fully and you both will need to learn them. Also, you’re gonna have to be comfortable with each other, be convincing as a married couple--physically, too.’ He pauses and looks at both of them. ‘Are you both comfortable with this?’

She looks at Mike, who gives her a slow grin. She’s grateful to be sitting down as she feels her knees tremble. ‘Yep,’ he says.

She nods, not trusting herself to speak.

‘Okay,’ Phil says, pleased. ‘Who’s up?’

‘Liz, I think,’ Mike says, tipping his chair onto its back legs. ‘Ladies first.’

She nods, focusing her attention on Phil as she sips her coffee.

‘Okay. What is your full name and any nicknames?’

‘Really?’ she asks.

‘Yeah. We’ve gotta go over everything, Liz.’

She sighs, tapping her pen on her notebook. ‘Elizabeth Griswold Olivet. I also go by Liz.’

‘Date and place of birth?’

‘September 19, 1961. I was born here in the city but I grew up in Darien and here on the Upper East Side.’

Phil writes down her responses. ‘And your parents?’

‘Nick and Isobel Olivet. My father is the CFO of the New York Trust Bank--my godfather is the Chairman of the bank. My mother is on the board of several charities. They live in Darien and I live in the apartment where I grew up.’

‘And where did you go to school?’

She sighs. This is going to take a long time if they are going to discuss her entire life history. ‘I went to Chapin here in the city, then Miss Porter’s for boarding school. I went to Barnard for college and Columbia for my Ph.D. in psychology.’

‘Any siblings?’

‘None,’ she begins, but she’s interrupted by Mike.

‘Jesus, are we going to have to go through all of this with me, too?’

‘Yes we are, Mikey, except we’re gonna make up yours. Donny said it was going to take a long time.’

As he talks she flips through the questions. ‘How much I weigh? Former boyfriends?’ She looks up at Phil. ‘Is there any part of my personal life you don’t need to know?’

‘Can’t we do this ourselves?’ Mike interjects, bringing the chair back down with a crash. ‘Look, we’ve got the questionnaires, we can make up my stuff and I’ll get to know about Liz and I think we’ll both be more comfortable, yeah?’ He looks over at her and she nods in relief and agreement. She knows so much about him already that maybe the playing field will be leveled if she confides in him.

Phil regards them both seriously. ‘You’d prefer that?’

‘Absolutely,’ she says, and Mike nods.

Phil shrugs. ‘Okay.’ He looks at his watch. ‘It’s noon now, should we take a break, go for lunch?’

‘If Donny needs this before we leave tonight we should probably order in and finish working. Is that okay?’ Mike asks her. She nods in agreement.

‘All right. Well, let me know if you need anything, and good luck.’

‘If you could toss in the takeout menus, that would be great,’ Mike grins.

‘Will do,’ he agrees, closing the door behind him.

Mike leans back in his chair again, picking up the questionnaire. ‘Okay. What’s your favorite color?’

 

Seven hours later she tucks her hair behind her ears and looks at him.

‘I think we’re done,’ she says in relief.

He runs a tired hand over his eyes. ‘Well, at least the first step. There’s still a lot to go.’ He opens his eyes and looks at her. ‘Ready to go talk to Donny?’

‘As ready as I can be.’

He nods, gathering up his papers. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

She collects her papers too, leaving her purse and coat in the interrogation room. He holds the door for her but she waits outside Don’s office for him to knock.

‘Come in!’ Cragen calls, and he opens the door.

‘We’ve got it.’

‘Yeah? Take a seat, let’s go over the details,’ he says.

She slumps in her seat, exhausted, and looks over at Mike. He looks the way she feels and they share a small smile before she recalls herself and looks at Don, who shuffles through the papers Mike hands to him.

‘Where did you meet?’

‘At a party on New Year’s Eve two years ago at the bar,’ Mike says.

‘Where was the party?’

‘My cousin’s place in Gramercy--he always has big parties, and Mike was the guest of a guest.’

‘Good. When did you get engaged?’

‘I proposed in June after a year and a half. We were walking around Central Park and I proposed at Bethesda Terrace. We got married in a quiet ceremony last week at the courthouse and we just got back from our honeymoon in Aspen--skiing.’

‘What’s Mike’s full name, where did he grow up, and what does he do?’

‘Michael Patrick Cavanaugh. He grew up in the East Village, went to NYU, and he’s a writer.’

Don laughs in surprise. ‘A writer?’

‘Yeah,’ Mike says defensively. ‘I’m gonna need to be around the building, right? That’ll be more plausible if I have a job that lets me work from home. And hey, I won’t need to have anything to show for it.’

He nods in acknowledgement. ‘Good point. So what are you writing?’

He grins. ‘Crime thrillers, of course.’

Don laughs. ‘Fair enough.’ He flips through the pages they’ve handed him. ‘Okay, Mikey, get me photocopies of all of these and then you two can call it a day. I’ll go through them tonight and have questions for you in the morning. Liz, your godfather is coming tomorrow at 11 to meet with us, so if you could be here by then?’

She nods. ‘I’ll be in first thing. I know we still have a lot of work to do.’

‘Thank you both,’ he says, dismissing them. Mike takes the papers back from Don and they leave his office. She turns away from him to go back to the interrogation room and collect her things but he reaches out and grabs her elbow. She turns back to look at him. 

‘Can I drive you home, Liz?’ he asks with an odd tentativeness. She looks up into his hazel eyes and feels her heart flutter betrayingly. She nods despite herself and he nods too, once. ‘Good. I’ll photocopy these and then meet you at my desk?’ She nods again and he gives her elbow a light squeeze before letting go.

 

About ten minutes later they walk out of the building together. As soon as they leave the precinct she notices how he relaxes, the way the tension leaves his body. They turn the corner and he rests his hand on her upper back, guiding her to his car. To her enormous surprise he steps around to the passenger side of the car, opening her door for her. She looks up at him in askance.

‘Figured I might as well start practicin’,’ he shrugs, closing the door behind her as she slips into the seat. He climbs into the car as well and looks over at her briefly as he turns on the car. ‘So where’s your apartment?’

‘Seventy-Sixth and Park.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Very nice.’ He rests a hand on the back of her seat and turns around, checking to make sure the road is clear before pulling out. They’ve missed rush hour and make quite good time driving down from the precinct.

‘I was wonderin’... would you come to dinner with me?’ he asks as they turn onto Park. ‘It would be nice to talk… outside the precinct, y’know.’

‘Okay. But let me take you out to dinner,’ she says impulsively. ‘We’ll go to my favorite French place--continue the prep work.’

He laughs. ‘As long as I can get a steak, it’s a deal.’

 

He parks outside her building and helps her out of the car. They walk side-by-side down the street for a few blocks, chatting lightly, before she indicates the restaurant. She is greeted with enthusiasm by Antoine, the maitre d’, and they are quickly whisked to a table, seated, and given menus. She orders a bottle of red wine which appears with admirable promptness, and they place their orders before she settles back in her seat, regarding him carefully.

He looks uncomfortable in the small chair, shifting it backwards to give himself more room.

‘Listen, I wanted to talk to you about… about the physical part of this. I know that we’re gonna have to practice, have to play this part, y’know… but I think we should work on that outside the precinct.’

She is completely, irrationally, hurt, and stares down at her glass of wine. Her words are more bitter than she intends. ‘Of course. I wouldn’t want your “street cred” to take a hit. I can’t imagine I’m your type.’

He winces at her sharp words. ‘It’s not that, Liz. I wouldn’t want your reputation to be called into question by… associatin’ with me. I know… I know that…’ he takes a swig of wine. ‘I’d like to think we’re friends,’ he says finally. ‘And as your friend--I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.’

For a moment their eyes meet and the heat rises in the room.

‘Thank you,’ she whispers.

He reaches out and touches her hand lightly. She feels a spark of electricity and looks back into his eyes, noting the slight furrowing of his brows. Slowly, cautiously, he takes her hand in his, running his thumb along the back.

‘You’ll let me know if you’re uncomfortable, right?’ he asks, looking down at their hands. ‘We’ll go as slowly as you like.’

‘Okay,’ she agrees, squeezing his hand lightly. ‘Thanks, Mike.’

He nods. ‘We’ll get the guy, Liz. I’ll do everything I can to make sure your family doesn’t get hurt.’

She dips her head, unsure she’s able to maintain her calm facade. ‘Thank you,’ she says again, and he squeezes her hand once more before their food arrives. She feels an immediate sense of loss as he releases his grip, turning his attention to his steak.

‘So Donny wants us to go shoppin’ tomorrow. We’ve got to get whole new wardrobes, apparently.’

She laughs with real amusement. ‘You mean I have to get an entire new wardrobe to impersonate myself?’

He laughs too, shrugging. ‘I guess. We’ll see. But you’ll come with me, right? Aren’t all wives supposed to shop for their husbands?’

She nods, taking a sip of wine. ‘Yes, I’ll come with you. Someone’s got to ensure you look the part.’

He raises an eyebrow and her heart rate picks up. ‘Well, I guess you are the best person to do that.’

She meets his eyes and smiles teasingly. ‘I think so too. After all, you should get into the habit of listening to your wife.’

He grins. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

 

After dinner she pays the check and they walk out of the restaurant into the chilly winter’s evening. She pulls her coat tighter and shivers, then stuffs her hands deep into her pockets as he comes up behind her.

‘You cold?’ he says, and she nods. ‘Here, let me.’ He wraps an arm around her shoulder and, feeling tipsy from the bottle of wine, his presence, and the sheer oddity of the day, snuggles deeply into his warmth without overanalyzing the situation. ‘Better?’

‘Mm,’ she agrees, closing her eyes for a brief moment to allow herself a private fantasy of really being with him, this dinner only a prelude to the rest of their night together.

He squeezes her shoulder lightly. ‘Ready to go?’

She looks up into his eyes, his strong profile outlined by the streetlamp. ‘Yes, I’m ready.’

He squeezes her shoulder again and they begin to walk back to her apartment, perfectly in step. She marvels at it, how good it feels to be so close to him. The walk back is far too short and she sighs inwardly when they reach the side door of her building.

‘This is me.’

He nods, dropping his arm, and turns to face her. ‘All right. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Good night.’

He raises a hand and rests it on her upper arm. ‘Good night.’

Impulsively she stretches up to kiss him on the cheek and his hand on her arm tightens. When she steps back he looks down at her.

‘Good night,’ he says again after a long pause, his eyes unreadable. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

She nods, turning away from him reluctantly to unlock the door to her building. Pressing the call button for the elevator, she tries not to think about the day. It’s been utterly exhausting and overwhelming but… there’s the promise of something, even if it’s pretend, even if it’s temporary. Maybe… just maybe… she shakes her head in frustration at her foolishness. Nothing is going to happen.


	2. Chapter 2

She arrives at the precinct at eight. Mike is already there, preoccupied, whisking her away to the interrogation room almost as soon as she steps into the squad room.

‘We have more things to go over,’ he says, choosing to pace around the room this time instead of sprawling in a chair. ‘We’ve got the facts, now Cragen wants to move onto preferences--what time you get up in the morning, how you take your coffee, that sort of thing.’

‘Speaking of coffee, I could do with a cup.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ he says, moving to the door. ‘So, how d’you take it?’

‘Cream, no sugar, please.’

He gives her his signature crooked grin. ‘Comin’ right up.’

When he returns with the coffee it deposits it in front of her with a mock flourish, allowing his hand to rest on her shoulder for a brief instant before moving away again.

‘Okay, so that’s one thing. Let’s work down the rest of the list.’

 

A few hours later Profaci raps on the interrogation room door, opening it without waiting for their response.

‘Donny wants you in his office ASAP,’ he says, leaning against the door. ‘So what’s goin’ on?’

Mike can’t resist teasing him. ‘Nothin’ to worry your pretty little head about, Profaci.’

She smiles apologetically and steps around him, walking towards Don’s office. Mike easily catches up to her, resting his hand on her back as he opens Don’s door for her. She looks up at him in gratitude but her attention is immediately diverted by her godfather, looking so incongruous sitting here in the precinct. He stands and enfolds her into an embrace.

‘Darling girl. The Captain’s been telling me what’s going on and I must insist you have no part of it--it’s too dangerous.’

‘It will be fine, Peter. It’s not as though I’m throwing myself into this blind--nor will I be alone. Here, let me introduce you to Mike Logan--or Michael Cavanaugh, as you’ll know him. We’ll be going undercover together.’

He shifts his stance so one arm still encircles her protectively as he extends his hand to Mike.

‘Good to meet you, Mr. Cavanaugh--or, Mike, I suppose. I’m Peter deVries.’

‘Good to meet you too, sir,’ he replies, gripping his hand.

‘Call me Peter--the Captain tells me you’re Liz’s husband for this… assignment, which means you’re practically my son-in-law.’

Mike chuckles. ‘Something like that, yes.’

‘Shall we all sit down?’ Don asks, and Peter agrees, pulling out a chair for her. Peter takes the other and once again Mike paces behind them.

‘I’ve gone over the details of the attacks with you, Mr. deVries, so let’s discuss the particulars. Liz and Mike will go undercover as a newly married couple. We’re taking over an empty apartment in the building to use for the length of the operation. As she mentioned, she’s already met many of the neighbors and is your goddaughter, which gives her entree into this crowd. As we’re attempting to handle this discreetly, we won’t be able to interview suspects unless absolutely necessary, so Liz and Mike will need to get to know our list of suspects very well as quickly as possible and attempt to narrow down the perpetrator. Would you be willing to help us by introducing the two of them to the building?’

‘Of course,’ Peter agrees immediately. ‘Miranda--my partner, you understand--and I will throw a welcoming party. When do you plan to move into the building?’

‘Next week--we’re still sorting furniture and that’s a bit of a hold-up.’

Peter waves a dismissive hand. ‘That’s nonsense. I have some in storage--Liz knows that well--I’ll have Miranda pick out some pieces and arrange to have them installed in the apartment. It’ll be more believable that way--I doubt your department’s budget could stretch to the sort of furnishing requires for a believable charade.’

‘You’re right,’ Don admits. ‘Thanks, that’s helpful--and that will mean that they can get situated by the weekend.’

She exchanges a quick glance with Mike--it’s already Wednesday, they were meant to have more time--before turning her attention back to Don.

‘Then we’ll arrange a party for Tuesday night--give you both a chance to settle in and perfect your act before springing the building on you. What else can I do to help, Captain? I can arrange a line of credit with my bank, if that would help.’

‘Peter, you don’t need to do that,’ she says, just as the Captain declines his offer.

‘I’m afraid we can’t take any monetary assistance from you, but thank you for the offer.’

‘Let me know if you change your mind,’ he says, nodding, then turns to her. ‘Have you told your parents, Liz?’

She shakes her head vehemently. ‘No, and I would appreciate it if neither you nor Miranda did. I don’t want them to worry--it’ll be perfectly safe.’

‘I’ll take good care of her,’ Mike says, speaking for the first time, stepping forward to rest a warm hand on her shoulder. ‘I promise.’

Peter looks back and forth at the two of them, and Mike steps back to lean against the wall again. ‘All right. But if you need anything, Liz--you let me know.’

‘Of course I will,’ she promises, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

‘Good.’

‘We appreciate all the assistance you’re willing to provide, sir,’ Don says.

‘Anything for my goddaughter,’ he says, smiling at her. ‘If you let the doorman know, I’ll have the furniture moved in by tomorrow afternoon.’

‘I will.’

Peter rises from his seat and shakes hands with Don and Mike before turning to her.

‘Darling, I’ve got to get to the bank. Walk me out?’

She nods, darting a quick glance at Don for his approval before she takes his arm.

‘I want you to be careful, Liz,’ Peter says again as they walk through the corridor to the exit. ‘This person is very dangerous.’

‘I will, I promise. Anyway, Mike will be there--he’ll have his gun and he knows how to defend himself.’

‘Do you?’

She nods. ‘Of course. We went through endless trainings at Barnard and Farmington.’

‘Good.’ They reach the exit and stand within the doors; she is not wearing her coat and it is a bitterly cold January day. ‘Well, it will be nice to have you as a neighbor, darling. Let us know if you want to come over this weekend, or if you need time to get used to your assignment.’

‘I will,’ she promises, stretching up to kiss his cheek. ‘Let us know about the party on Tuesday, and I’ll see you soon.’

He returns her kiss. ‘See you soon. Oh, and Liz?’

‘Yes?’

‘Please get that man some new clothes.’

She laughs. ‘We’re going shopping this afternoon.’

‘Good,’ he smiles. ‘Let me know if you need anything, darling. I want you to be all right. I do still think this is a dangerous idea.’

‘I know. I’ll be fine, I promise.’

He kisses her forehead. ‘Good. We’ll see you soon.’ She smiles and he squeezes her hand before he walks out of the precinct. She watches as he walks down the steps, his driver opening the door for him. After they drive away she turns away and walks back into the precinct.

Mike is sitting at his desk, writing notes, when she reenters the squad room. She takes the chair next to him and he looks up at her.

‘Hey,’ he says, setting down his pen. ‘He’s nice--your godfather, I mean.’

‘He invited us to dinner this weekend…’

‘Nice. Good to practice.’ He looks at her for a long moment. ‘Lunch before we go shopping? Donny’s set up fake credit cards for us… wanna break them in?’

She leans back, regarding him carefully. He holds her gaze and she flushes. ‘Let’s do some shopping first, then lunch. Is that okay?’

He shrugs. ‘Yeah. Lunch’ll be a good reward. Just let me tell Donny we’re out for the day, yeah? I’ll drive.’

‘Okay,’ she agrees. He’s gone for a few minutes, returning brandishing two envelopes.

‘Ready?’ He grabs his coat and she stands, shrugging into hers. ‘Let’s go.’

This time as they walk out of the precinct he rests his hand on her lower back and she fancies she can feel the heat of his hand through her coat. She shakes her head slightly, dispelling her foolishness.

‘So where are we goin’ shopping? I defer to your better judgement.’

‘Brooks Brothers. We can get everything we need there.’

He raises an eyebrow but turns on the car and pulls out of his parking spot.

‘Donny wants us to start practicin’... getting into our roles all the time now, since the date’s been moved up and we’re movin’ in on Saturday.’ He shoots her a quick glance. ‘That okay?’

She nods, staring straight ahead, and flinches in surprise as he reaches down to take her hand.

‘Sorry,’ he says, dropping her hand abruptly. ‘I just figured…’

‘You startled me, that’s all,’ she says quickly. ‘It’s fine, Mike.’ This time she reaches out tentatively and takes his hand. He looks at her for a long moment before an angry honk from the car behind them prompts him to release her hand and continue driving. 

 

They get stuck in absolutely miserable traffic and reach the Flatiron Building at one o’clock.

‘Maybe we should go to lunch first,’ she says dubiously as they park. ‘Gramercy Tavern is just around the corner.’

‘Good idea--and a beer will definitely make shopping more enjoyable.’ They get out of the car and he joins her on the sidewalk, rummaging in his coat pocket.

‘Another thing--Donny gave me these.’ He opens his hand and she sees three rings lying on his palm. ‘I wasn’t sure of your ring size… I hope they fit.’

She stands there, stunned, as he takes her hand and gently slips on first the engagement ring, a large emerald flanked by two diamonds, then the simple gold band. Looking up at him, she sees him smile slightly to himself before he releases her hand and slips his own ring on.

‘There.’

She clears her throat before she speaks. ‘Where did Don get them?’

‘Evidence room. Do they fit?’

‘Yes. Does yours?’

‘Yep.’ He grins at her. ‘I’ve gotta say, commitment doesn’t feel as bad as I thought it would.’

She avoids his eyes, looking down at the rings on her finger. ‘I’m starving. Should we go to lunch?’

‘Sure,’ he says, reaching down to take her hand. She allows him to grasp it, once again looking at the rings on her finger, and they walk to Gramercy Tavern.

 

‘This is not what I expected when you said “tavern,”’ he says in an undertone as they are led to their table. ‘What are we gonna do, order $20 hamburgers?’

She shrugs, trying to regain her nonchalance. ‘This is all part of it, Mike.’

They are settled at their table with menus and water. As she studies hers, he slides an envelope across the table to her.

‘New credit card, address, keys to the apartment,’ he explains as she opens it, pulling out a platinum American Express card, three keys, and the address, written on a sheet of paper. They’ll be on the tenth floor, she notes, and adds the keys to the keyring in her purse and the credit card to her wallet.

‘We should start going over the suspect list,’ she says, extracting a sheaf of paper.

‘Later,’ he says, resting his hand on top of the papers to obscure her view. ‘Let’s just talk, honey.’

‘What do you want to talk about?’ she asks coolly.

‘What are our lives gonna be like when we go undercover?’ he blurts, brows furrowed in consternation.

She leans back and thinks for a long moment, regarding him carefully. ‘It’ll be different. Lots of long lunches… for you, I guess, lots of pickup basketball games, drinks, and scotch-filled evenings. I’m going to switch my appointments so that I only have patients three mornings a week. So I’ll be busy too--lunches, shopping, charity events…’

He snorts with laughter. ‘Are you kidding?’

‘No,’ she replies, shaking her head. ‘So many events will happen at these suspects’ apartments--we’ll have a chance to see what’s going on, and everything will be in plain view.’

He straightens up. ‘Okay, then. Are we on our own, or what?’

‘No. Of course we’ll have our own things to do--we’ll cover more ground that way--but I’m sure we’ll be invited to cocktail parties and dinner parties which we’ll attend together.’

‘Okay. And we’ll go over what we’ve found out each night, yeah?’

She nods, picturing them talking in bed, sitting up next to each other, talking turning into kissing… but they are not a couple, they will not share a bed, and this is only make-believe.

‘Liz? You ready to order?’ he asks, and she drags her attention back to him. How is she supposed to investigate these attacks if she can’t prevent herself from daydreaming. It’s not like this at work, it’s never been like this before in her life, but then she’s never pretended to be married before, let alone to the man she’s in love with.

He reaches out to take her hand. ‘Everything okay, babe?’

‘I’m scared,’ she admits, though she’s not scared for the reasons he thinks. What if she gives herself away?

‘Everything’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna get the guy and everything’s gonna be okay,’ he assures her, leaning forward to look into her eyes. ‘I promise, Liz. We’ve just gotta work together, trust each other. D’you think you can trust me?’

She looks into his eyes, utterly sincere. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. Because I’m trustin’ you to help me with these clothes--and, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m gonna need a lot of help to look like a preppy stockbroker or whatever.’

She laughs, feeling lighthearted again. ‘I’ll do my best.’

 

‘Let me do the talking, okay?’ she says as they step into the store.

He raises his eyebrow but capitulates. ‘I’m in your hands,’ he says.

They are approached almost immediately by an older gentleman. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Our apartment flooded and I’m afraid we’ll need to replace my husband’s entire wardrobe. So we’ll need three suits--navy, grey pinstripe, and black; two pairs of khakis; one pair of navy slacks; half a dozen shirts--three white, one with French cuffs, one light blue, two striped; two sweaters--grey and navy v-neck; a tuxedo and accoutrements; a camel-hair overcoat; a pair of dress shoes; a pair of everyday shoes; three ties; and pocket squares.’

She glances at Mike, who is staring at her in astonishment. Their salesman takes it all in his stride. ‘Of course. Will you come this way and I’ll bring a selection for you. Can I get you something to drink?’

‘We’re fine, thank you. Just over here?’ she indicates.

‘Yes. If you need me before I return, my name is Carl.’

‘Thank you,’ she says, and takes Mike’s arm to lead him towards the dressing room.

‘Jesus, Liz, is this all necessary?’

She smiles up at him. ‘Strictly speaking--no. But why not splurge a little? I won’t be buying any new clothes for myself.’

‘As long as you take the rap,’ he says as Carl comes back wheeling a rack of clothes.

She agrees just as Carl says, ‘Let’s get started.’

 

Three hours later Mike has made his impatience with the fittings extremely clear but they’ve finally wrapped things up. The tuxedo and two of the suits need alterations; she arranges to have all but three shirts, two pairs of slacks, one of the sweaters, one of the suits, and the coat sent to the apartment on Beekman Place, then pays with their newly-issued credit card. Mike barely restrains himself from goggling at the total, though as they leave the store, laden with shopping bags, he can no longer restrain himself.

‘Six thousand dollars!’ he explodes. ‘Jesus, Liz, that’s practically a year’s rent.’

‘You have to look the part, Mike,’ she reminds him. ‘Besides, you’ll never have to buy clothes again.’

He tosses the shopping bags in the back seat and closes the door. ‘Let me call into the precinct, then I’ll drive you home.’ She nods, climbing into the car and watching as he uses the pay phone on the corner. He looked so good in those clothes--she could barely speak when he came out in that tuxedo, looking incredibly sexy… 

He taps on her window, interrupting her thoughts, and she rolls it down.

‘Another letter’s been sent to the precinct and Don wants us both in. That okay?’

‘That’s fine,’ she says, and rolls the window back up as he gets into the car.

He drives uptown quickly, his hand resting absentmindedly on her knee. He spends the drive talking to her about the profiles they’ve drawn up about the suspects, his thumb running along her kneecap--an attempt, she thinks, to distract her, though it doesn’t work. She is petrified by what’s happening--what if Peter and Miranda are the next victims?

She taps her fingers nervously on the dashboard, stopping only when he reaches out and takes her hand.

‘No point in worryin’ till we get there, babe. And Don said it was another note, not an attack.’

‘I know,’ she says tersely, turning to look at him. ‘But Mike--’

‘It’s gonna be okay,’ he says, soothingly. ‘Look, I know we’re supposed to move in on Saturday evening but why don’t we go by the apartment after this, see if everything’s all set? I think we’re pretty ready--we know each other and we’re gonna have plenty of time to practice over the weekend… we can move in tomorrow morning, okay?’

‘You’re all right with that?’ she asks in surprise.

He nods. ‘Yeah, of course. Okay, here’s the plan--we’re gonna go to the apartment, figure out what else we’re gonna need, pack, and then we’ll move in in the morning.’

‘Thank you,’ she sighs, inordinately relieved, and squeezes his hand.

He turns to smile at her, then finds a parking spot outside the precinct. ‘Let’s go. Let’s figure out what’s goin’ on.’

She climbs out of the car, surprised when he comes around to her side. She looks up at him and he embraces her.

‘It’s gonna be okay,’ he says, stroking her hair. Her arms go around him involuntarily and she sucks in a breath at the feel of him, his muscled body strong and hard against hers, his scent--leather and his aftershave and something uniquely him. She’s never been this close to him before, close enough to feel every muscle in his body, and she feels a rush of desire so strong her knees go weak. Stepping back, she grips his arm to steady herself, avoiding his gaze.

‘Let’s go in,’ she says, taking a deep breath. He looks at her oddly but nods as she drops her hand from his arm and strides ahead of him, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

 

Don hands her the note and she reads it aloud as Mike leans against the wall behind her.

‘“Bankers are the root of all evil. They steal from the poor to give to the rich and deserve to be wiped out.”’ She swallows, pushing back the fear she feels on behalf of her godfather. ‘Well, this is consistent with the other notes we’ve received and the profile I drew up yesterday--likely a well-educated person, probably male in his late twenties to thirties, rebelling against societal and familial expectations, lashing out due to a failure or a significant event that occurred recently--a death in the family, the loss of a job, the dissolution of a marriage. As the note is printed in block letters, he’s attempting to hide his identity.’ She hands the note back to Don and begins to pace, unable to sit still.

‘We’ve decided we’re gonna go in tomorrow,’ Mike says. ‘We’ll take a look at the apartment, see what else we need, spend the evening goin’ over everything once more… I think we’re ready. Liz has worked up the profile, we have the suspect list, and we’ve gone over that extensively.’

‘Liz?’ Don asks, looking at her. She looks back at him steadily, aware of Mike’s gaze.

‘We’re ready,’ she says tightly.

Don sighs, leaning back in his chair. ‘You’ve gone over your stories? You’re ready, you’re sure?’

‘Hey, we don’t need to spend a lot of time with the neighbors this weekend--we’re gonna be busy moving but it’ll be good to get familiar with everything, have those few extra days.’

‘All right,’ he capitulates. ‘Get this wrapped up as quickly as possible, okay? I want reports every day.’

Mike agrees and she nods in relief.

‘Good luck.’

‘Thanks, Donny.’


	3. Chapter 3

‘We should take my car,’ she says as they exit the precinct. ‘We could drive back to my apartment and you could leave your car there, then we could drive down to Beekman Place.’

He shrugs. ‘Sounds good. I’ll follow you, but I’ll meet you outside your building if we get separated.’ He stops as they reach her car. ‘I’ll drive, though, once we get there.’

She quirks an eyebrow at him but agrees. ‘See you shortly.’ He opens the door for her and she slides into her BMW, leaning back against the seat and closing her eyes for a moment. Tomorrow morning this charade begins. It’s going to be fine, won’t it? It will be just fine.

She opens her eyes and turns on the car, pulling out of her spot. Mike follows her and she forces herself to concentrate on driving and not on the thought of him. It’s gotten worse over the past few days, she thinks, as she looks down at the rings on her finger. She’s being ridiculous. It doesn’t mean anything. She doesn’t mean anything to him; he will never see her as anything more than a friend. Oh, damn it.

She pulls up in front of her building and turns off the car, waiting for him. A few minutes later Mike strides down the street, wearing his new coat. She climbs out of the car and walks around to the passenger side, watching him as he gets into the car.

‘Ready to go?’

‘Yes. That coat looks good on you,’ she adds.

‘Thanks,’ he says, moving the seat back and turning on the car. ‘Figured I might as well wear it.’

She nods, looking out the window, seeing his reflection in the glass

‘You okay?’ he asks as he starts driving towards the FDR.

She keeps looking out the window, though she catches the quick turn of his head towards her in the glass.

Why is he suddenly perceptive? She used to think he was a self-involved misogynist who would only be interested in a woman’s feelings if he wanted to get her into bed. It would be easier to get through this if he was that man still, but she knew he wasn’t. He was generous, kind, and surprisingly sensitive.

‘Liz?’ he presses.

‘I’m fine,’ she says tightly, and they drive the rest of the way to their new apartment in silence.

When they arrive at their new building he pulls up in front and she gets out of the car, feeling so strange. It’s a glimpse at another life, one that she doesn’t have but wants so desperately. One of the doormen comes up to them.

‘Miss Elizabeth,’ Joey says warmly. ‘Mr. deVries said that you and your husband were moving into the empty apartment. And congratulations on your marriage!’

She feels a slight twinge of guilt at her lie as she pastes on her society smile and thanks him effusively, reaching out for Mike’s hand. She performs the introductions, explaining that they’ve decided to move in tomorrow morning. She leaves the car keys with Joey and brings Mike through to the elevators.

‘Nice building,’ he says approvingly as they step into the elevator. She nods, tensing as he loops an arm around her waist. When the elevator doors bing open they walk down the corridor to their apartment.

‘So, should I carry you over the threshold?’ he laughs, taking the keys out of his jacket pocket.

She lifts an eyebrow and he laughs again, holding up his hands in defeat. Turning back to the door, he unlocks it, stepping back to let her precede him. She walks through the foyer into the living room, looking around, as he comes up behind her. It’s beautiful--quite large and airy, with big windows overlooking the river and a selection of stunning antique furniture from Peter and Miranda’s collection, complete down to a selection of books on the bookshelves and her favorite candles. There’s only one problem… 

‘It’s only one bedroom,’ she says numbly.

‘Starter apartment,’ Mike jokes. ‘Hey, a one bedroom on Beekman Place? More than most people get in a lifetime.’ He flops down on the sofa and she winces as the delicate Regency piece shifts under his weight. ‘I’m startin’ to like how the other half lives.’ He grins at her, inviting her to share in the joke, but she turns away from him, ostensibly to explore the rest of the space but really to put some distance between them. She steps through to the bedroom, noting the blessedly enormous four-poster bed made up with crisp linen sheets, antique nightstands, the mahogany dresser--all loaned from Peter. There are French doors along the opposite wall and she steps onto the terrace, noting the beautiful river view.

As she stares out the window she thinks about what’s she’s doing. She didn’t want to admit to herself her feelings for him but surely it was futile to deny them now. She got a chance to know him, truly know him, during their sessions after Max’s brutal murder. His struggle to come to terms with his grief involved baring his soul, and she was touched not only by the trust he put in her to help him but also by how much he’d suffered throughout his life. After he accepted Max’s death--well, as much as he could--and they ended their sessions, that intimacy disappeared, though her feelings for him only deepened as they were constantly thrown together by work. How did she allow him to get under her skin? He was her _patient_.

She turns as she hears him behind her, his footsteps immediately recognizable.

‘So what d’you think, babe?’ he asks. ‘Home sweet home?’

Her heart clenches at his lighthearted endearment but she forces herself to smile. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, stepping over to the bed. He tests the mattress, turning to look at her with a lazy grin. ‘Very nice. Your godfather has good taste.’

She blushes at a sudden vision of him pushing her down onto the bed, kissing her, big hands slipping up her blouse… 

‘Liz. Earth to Liz!’ His voice breaks through her consciousness and she flushes deeper, barely able to meet his eyes. He looks at her oddly and she has the bizarre sense he knows exactly what she was thinking.

‘I’m sorry, I was a million miles away. Are we all done?’

‘I guess.’

‘Let’s go then.’

His brows draw together but he nods, slipping his arm around her waist as he guides her towards the door. She flinches away from his touch and he stops walking to look at her.

‘Are you sure that everything’s okay, Liz? You’ve been kind of distant today.’

She forces herself to nod, dropping her gaze to the floor. ‘I’m fine. It’s just a bit… bizarre. I’ll be fine.’

‘You sure?’ His voice is gentle and she looks up into his eyes. Is it her imagination or are his eyes soft and concerned?

She swallows. ‘I’m sure.’

He nods slowly, still holding her gaze. ‘All right. Well, look, almost everything’s set up in the apartment--we’ll need groceries but otherwise it looks like we’re all set--your godfather’s even stocked cleaning supplies. So, where d’you want to go to dinner? We should spend the evening going over everything one more time like we promised Donny--it’s our last chance.’

‘I’m exhausted and I still need to pack. Will you drive me home?’ she asks. ‘We can order takeout.’

‘Sure,’ he agrees easily, looping his arm around her waist once again. This time she allows herself to lean into his solid form. ‘Let’s go.’

 

It’s nearly midnight by the time they finish going over everything again--their stories, the suspect list, her profile of the attacker--and they’ve finished a bottle and a half of wine and the pasta they ordered from Sant Ambroeus. She’s lying back against the arm of the sofa, looking down at him sprawled on the floor. His hand rests on her knee, caressing it absentmindedly as he flips through papers with his other hand. She wants so badly to run her hand through his hair, to bend and kiss him, to have him take her to bed.

‘I think we’re ready,’ she says, not wanting to break the silence but knowing she should. If they were together… it could be like this always, so comfortable, so wonderful… 

He looks up at her, his eyes dark in the dim light. ‘We should probably practice kissing,’ he says, and her heart begins to pound.

‘What?’ she asks dumbly.

He stands up and then sits down next to her on the sofa, sliding his hand up her thigh.

‘Well, honey, we are supposed to be married. It’s gotta look believable.’

Lifting his hand, he strokes her cheek, running a thumb along her lower lip. She inhales sharply as he dips his head to kiss her, his lips incredibly, surprisingly gentle against hers. It feels better than she’d dreamed and she can’t help but respond, leaning forward to deepen the kiss, sliding her arms around his waist. He slips his tongue into her mouth and she barely restrains a moan as she arches her back, pressing closer to him. He raises a hand to stroke her hair and rests the other on her back, pulling her close. Caught up in the feel of him, she forgets that this is a charade, that he doesn’t care about her except as a friend, that he has a very colorful reputation with women. Just as she begins to move closer he pulls back and she looks up at him, blinking in surprise.

‘Maybe somethin’ a little more… restrained?’ he suggests with a smile that seems to mock her enthusiasm. She flushes but nods, unsure she can speak without betraying herself, and lets him kiss her again, lightly and without passion.

‘Yeah, that’s better,’ he says, pulling back again, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She can’t quite read his expression, nor does she want to. She’s embarrassed by her lack of control and she doesn’t want to know now what he thinks of her, how ridiculous she must seem. ‘Do you think we’ll pass muster?’

‘Yes,’ she says, moving away, wrapping her arms around her waist defensively. ‘I don’t think we need to practice any more.’

He quirks an eyebrow at her but nods. ‘Okay. What time should I pick you up tomorrow?’

‘I’ll pick you up. We’ll be taking my car, after all--no sense in bringing all your things down here.’ She stands up, collecting the empty wine glasses, a clear dismissal. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at 10. Write down your address, will you?’ Turning away, she goes back into the kitchen to wash the dishes, plunging her hands into the hot soapy water, listening to the sound of the rings on her wine glasses, shoulders sagging.

‘Damn it,’ she whispers. ‘Damn it.’

She turns off the water and drains the sink, then dries her hands before walking back into the living room to Mike. He’s gathered up his papers and she watches him from the doorway.

‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ he says to her, walking over to her to kiss her lightly on the lips. She nods, watching as he walks down the hallway and leaves her apartment.

As soon as he closes the door, she goes to pack up her things. She has no idea how long she’ll be gone, so she packs for two weeks, filling two suitcases with clothes to cover every eventuality. She also packs the books on her nightstand, a few family photos to add verisimilitude to this operation, and her journal. It’s one in the morning by the time she finishes and she decides to take a long, hot bath. Her last night in her apartment… starting this morning she and Mike will be sharing an apartment, acting out a relationship they’ll never have, even sharing a bed… and yet nothing will ever change between them.

But it felt so right when he took her into his arms, when he gently ran his thumb along her lower lip before kissing her. She felt a spark--he must have too, and it felt so good to press up against him, to feel the hard lines of his body against hers. Lying back in the bath, she allows her mind to wander, imagining if he had continued, his large hand cupping her breast, his mouth trailing down her neck. She moans involuntarily, parting her legs as she lowers her hand. Closing her eyes, she imagines him undressing her, his hand trailing along her collarbone, slipping lower, his mouth following. She raises her other hand to her breast, caressing as she imagines his hand there instead, the look in his eyes, dark and intent, focused on her. She rubs harder, head dropping back as she moans again, seeing him unbuckling his belt, slipping off his boxers, fully erect and wanting her as much as she wants him. He would take her in his arms, laying her back against the sofa, would kneel between her legs and say her name… She comes with a cry, sliding down into the bathtub as she tries to even her breathing. Why is she doing this to herself? Why is she tormenting herself like this? She closes her eyes and a tear slips down her cheek.

After a few minutes she drains the bathtub and climbs out of it, wrapping herself in a large towel. She goes through the motions of preparing for bed, feeling suddenly, thoroughly exhausted. She drops the towel on the floor and climbs between her sheets, naked, and falls asleep

 

She wakes up after a restless night with a pounding headache only compounded by the ringing of her alarm clock. She rolls out of bed and gets changed, double-checking the things she’s packed. She empties her fridge, takes out the garbage, prepares the laundry for her housekeeper to take care of later this week. Getting dressed, she goes downstairs to load the car, her doorman assisting her. She checks her watch, seeing that it’s nearly ten, and she rubs her temples to try to soothe her headache, though it doesn’t work. Giving up, she drives uptown to his apartment in Yorkville.

There isn’t a parking spot on his block, but she finds one on the side street. Carefully locking the doors, she goes back to his building and presses the buzzer.

‘Yeah?’

She bites her lip at the sound of his voice. ‘It’s me. Are you ready?’

‘Yeah, I’ll be down in a minute.’

She waits on the steps, shivering in the bitter February wind. It takes him a long time and she checks her watch constantly, working herself up to the point that, when he finally comes down ten minutes later, she has a near-blinding headache.

‘Hey babe,’ he greets her, carrying two beat-up canvas duffle bags. He leans forward to kiss her but she shies away, face flaming with embarrassment after her unwise indulgence last night.

‘I have a headache,’ she says by way of explanation, then leads him down the block to her car. She unlocks the doors then hands him the keys, curling up in the passenger seat with her eyes closed and seat leaned back, trying to ease the ache in her head. She hears him load up the car then climb in next to her.

‘You ready?’

‘Yes,’ she replies, keeping her eyes closed. He is silent as he turns on the car, easily maneuvering it onto the FDR.

‘We don’t have to do anything today if you’re not feelin’ up to it,’ he says. ‘I know that unpackin’ is gonna take some time but after… I mean, I can go get groceries and things if you wanna rest.’

‘Thanks,’ she replies, eyes still closed. ‘I didn’t sleep well last night.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, touching her knee and she forces herself not to flinch. ‘You must be worried.’

‘I am.’

He squeezes her knee and she closes her eyes more tightly, clenching her hands together in her lap. 

Why can’t she think of this as a blessing? She wished for this for so long, and it is an opportunity to get to know him on a personal level, to have him get to know her. Maybe he will discover that he’s attracted to her, or at least want her enough to take her to bed. And what if it was only that? Would that be enough for her? Maybe this is only coming up because it’s been a while since she was last with anyone, six months at least… but no, it’s been much longer since she first realized she wanted him. She doesn’t want to be one of his women, the ones he discusses with Phil, but surely he doesn’t want a relationship with her. This assignment is only a way for him to get ahead and to do a friend a favor--nothing more.

His hand is still resting on her knee and she just wants to keep driving forever. If they keep driving it can always be like this--quiet, comfortable, his hand warm on her leg. But then he lets go and she opens her eyes, watching as he pulls up outside their new building. After he parks, he turns to her.

‘You ready, Liz?’ he asks.

She looks into his eyes, hazel today and gentle. Pressing her lips together, she nods tightly and opens the car door.

Ricky, another doorman, comes out to greet them and assist them in bringing their bags up to their apartment. She hangs back, allowing Mike to take charge of coordinating the move, looking at her matched Mark Cross luggage and how different it looks from Mike’s, how different their lives are. She should have thought of that when they were shopping, or at least loaned him some of the endless boat & tote bags in her closet. She had plenty, even after filling two with her books, pictures, and other things to make their apartment look like a home.

When the luggage cart is loaded, Mike turns back to her, smiling, and extends his hand to her. She takes it, stepping up to join him as they follow Ricky into the elevator and up to their new apartment.

After saying goodbye to Ricky, thanking him profusely, Mike closes and locks the door behind them, then turns to her.

‘So, what should we do first?’ he asks.

Her headache has returned in full force and she feels vaguely nauseous. ‘Clothes, I guess.’

‘Sure,’ he agrees. She follows him into the bedroom, trying to focus on the task at hand. ‘You sleep on the left, yeah? Will you take that side of the dresser then?’

She nods, kneeling next to her suitcases, unzipping the first one. She methodically sorts through her clothes, blushing as he glances over to look at her progress just as she extracts her lingerie. He looks away quickly and she sees the barest hint of a flush on his cheeks too.

It takes longer than she expects to unpack as she focuses on making everything perfect in an attempt to ease her headache. It doesn’t help, indeed only makes it worse, and by the time she finishes unpacking all she wants to do is climb into bed and sleep. Instead she walks into the kitchen, ignoring him, and pours herself a glass of water. There’s still so much to unpack--the personal touches to make this apartment a home.

She hears his footsteps behind her and turns around.

‘I’m just about done unpacking. D’you want to make a list of what you’d like and I can run to the grocery store?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ she says, relieved that she’ll soon be alone. She sets down her glass of water and walks back into the living room, rummaging in one of her tote bags for a pen and notepad. Sitting down on the sofa, she drafts a list. It is doubtful that Mike will cook anything edible, so she plans a menu for the weekend, planning to make coq au vin for dinner with a salad and roasted potatoes. She also adds pastries to the list, eggs for omelettes, bacon, pasta for lunch, tea, coffee, milk, and a few bottles of wine.

‘I’ll cook dinner tonight,’ she tells him, walking back into the kitchen to hand him the list.

‘You sure?’ he asks, lifting an eyebrow at the long list of ingredients for her coq au vin. ‘We could go out if you’re not feelin’ up to it.’

‘I’m sure,’ she says.

‘Okay. I’m gonna head out--need anything else?’

‘No. Thanks, Mike,’ she adds softly.

‘Sure. I’ll see you in a bit.’ He kisses her forehead as he walks past her, collecting his coat and wallet. She waits until he leaves to walk back to the bedroom, changing out of her slacks and sweater and into a silk nightgown. She slips between the crisp linen sheets, falling asleep quickly, blessedly.

 

The door to the apartment slams shut and she sits up in bed, disconcerted for a moment by her unfamiliar surroundings. Her headache has faded but it feels like her brain has been replaced with cotton wool and all she wants is to go back to sleep. She rolls onto her side, closing her eyes, but she can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen as she neglected to close the bedroom doors. Her alarm clock reads three o’clock and she sighs, climbing out of bed to get dressed. When she is dressed again in a thick sweater and leggings, she pulls out her sheepskin slippers and pads into the kitchen.

‘Hey,’ he says warmly, closing the fridge door. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘A bit better.’

‘Good. Can I get you anything? I was just gonna make some coffee.’

‘Coffee sounds good,’ she agrees, and he smiles at her. ‘I’m just going to finish unpacking.’

‘Sure, babe. I’ll bring the coffee in when it’s ready.’

‘Thanks,’ she says, walking back into the living room. Unpacking is much easier without her headache, though she still feels ill at ease. Planning this undercover investigation is far different than its execution. She’s set up her photographs on the fireplace mantle and just starts shelving her books when he walks in with two cups of coffee.

‘I’ll do that,’ he says, walking over to her, handing her a cup of coffee. She accepts it gratefully, curling up onto the sofa to watch him. She smiles involuntarily as she takes a sip of coffee, watching him move with an easy grace, muscles straining against his button-down shirt. He looks so good; she can picture his arms around her, lifting her up, and she looks away quickly, her heart pounding.

‘So what d’you want to do for the rest of the day?’ he asks, turning away from the bookshelves. ‘I mean, we’re about done unpacking.’

‘I have some files to review,’ she fibs. ‘And we need to call Cragen, right?’ 

‘Sure, but that’s not gonna take up the whole day. Wanna go to the movies or somethin’?’

She does want to--the comfortable seats, dim lights, his arm around her shoulders--but she shakes her head. ‘Maybe we could just watch one here?’

‘Sure. We can run down to the video store, pick up a movie.’

‘Great.’ She sets down her empty coffee mug. ‘Now?’

‘Why not? Lemme grab a sweater.’ He disappears into the bedroom and she collects their empty coffee mugs, washing and drying them before he returns. She finds her favorite low-heeled boots in the closet and puts them on, then grabs her Barbour. Her purse is in their little dining room where she left it, and Mike is just shrugging into his new coat when she joins him in the foyer.

‘Let’s go,’ he says, resting a hand on her back as he guides her into the hallway. As they wait for the elevator, the door next to theirs opens and a young woman steps out, smiling at them as she joins them waiting for the elevator.

‘You must be my new neighbors!’ she says cheerfully. ‘I saw your furniture move in earlier this week. Hi--I’m Nora Robinson.’

‘I’m Michael Cavanaugh and this is my wife, Liz,’ Mike says, extending his hand to her. She feels him tense--Nora is one of the suspects on their list, and she studies her carefully--the straight-legged jeans, long hair twisted back in a braid, the navy-blue toggle coat. Nora is about twenty-five and her parents bought her apartment after her graduation from NYU. She works at the UN as a translator.

‘It’s nice to meet you,’ she says, shaking her hand too. ‘How do you like living in the building?’

‘I love it--it’s a great building.’

The elevator arrives and they step onto it.

‘Your godfather lives in the building, doesn’t he, Liz?’ Nora asks. ‘I got his invitation to a cocktail party for Tuesday.’

‘He does, yes. It’s wonderful that you’re coming to the party--it was so kind of Peter to organize it. We’re really looking forward to meeting everyone.’

The elevator doors open again into the lobby. ‘Well, if you’re not doing anything later this afternoon, do you want to come over for a glass of wine? Around 6?’ Nora asks as they step out of the elevator.

She darts a quick look up at Mike, who agrees. ‘Thanks, that’s really nice. We’ll see you then.’

‘Great!’ she says with a grin. ‘See you later.’

She looks up at him again as Nora strides out of the building ahead of them. He takes her hand and they follow.

‘We might as well get started,’ he says with a shrug. ‘We don’t have to stay long.’

She nods, acknowledging his point, even as she regrets that the assignment encroaches in on the only night she thought they’d be able to spend alone together. At least his hand squeezes hers as they step into the cold winter afternoon.


	4. Chapter 4

She’s been antsy as hell all day, barely restraining herself from flinching when he reaches out to touch her. What’s he doing wrong? He thought they had a good rhythm going--she’d even reached out to take his hand yesterday as they were going shopping--but now she’s jumpy and tense, her face pale and drawn. Yeah, some of it is probably the stress of the investigation--her godfather was more-or-less directly threatened in yesterday’s note--but somehow he thinks it has more to do with the kiss they’d shared late last night.

He’d barely managed to restrain himself as she deepened the kiss--it took all his willpower not to give in right there, to stop himself from pushing her back against the arm of the couch and undressing her. He tried to confine himself to running his tongue along her lower lip, seeking access, which she granted easily. That was fine, but then she arched her back to press against him… He’d had to pull back, joking that they should show some restraint, otherwise he had no idea what he would have done, had she let him. He had embarrassed her, though, with his awkward comment--she’d flushed and refused to kiss him back, moving to the opposite end of the couch as soon as his lips left hers. He didn’t want to do that, to make her feel bad when all he’s trying to do is hide his own feelings.

This little exercise, more than anything else, has highlighted the gulf between their lives. He’s learned more about her upbringing and family than he’s know about any girl since the ones he dated in high school, the girls he grew up with. And her life was certainly a lot different than anything he’s ever experienced--the casual way she came up with an enormously expensive wardrobe, the restaurants where she eats, even the way she packed for the operation are all totally beyond his comprehension. She’s never gonna want a guy like him, not when she has the entire world open to her.

And yet despite all these trappings of wealth, which he’d normally despise and resent on sight, he admires her. She loves her family--that much is patently clear--and she’s willing to put herself in a lot of danger to protect them. He’s sure this isn’t the way she wants to spend her time--camping out, playing house on Beekman Place, especially when she has that massive apartment uptown to herself--but she’s doing it anyway because she loves them. He wouldn’t do that for anyone… well, almost anyone.

Why’d he take this assignment? Yeah, it’ll look good when they get the guy, but he has an ulterior motive. Ever since the first time she walked into the precinct and he got a good look at her legs he’d wanted to take her out for a drink, bring her back to his bed, but when he was sent to see her after Max… that changed everything. Of course he struggled at first, fought her every step of the way, but she was good at her job and she helped him lay so many demons to rest. No one else could have done for him what she did. She knew everything about him and even after he was released from their weekly sessions they maintained an amicable relationship, going out for lunch together when they were investigating a case, celebrating a victory with a drink. She intrigued him, this upper-class woman who was willing to deal with the most horrific elements in the city. He knew she didn’t need the city’s meager paycheck, didn’t need to sully her hands with the significant problems facing the people in and out of the squad room every day--but she did it anyways, and did it well.

So if he admits it to himself he has to acknowledge that this is a way to get to know her better, to spend time with her, to figure out what it’s gonna take to win her over. He’s found that answer out quickly, and the answer is not him.

But it’s intoxicating to play this role. He’s always craved this level of intimacy with another person, even if he’s been unable to attain it. He wants intimacy but doesn’t want to share--well, maybe he wants her so much because she already knows everything… even though he wanted her long before that. They’re friends, and he’s never friends with the women he dates--it’s too much to handle with the fighting and breakups. He prefers to keep things light and easy, finding solace in a warm body in his bed rather than by talking about his feelings. But this fictional relationship is different. It is as least a no-strings-attached way of testing out a relationship with her, if he ever had a chance. He knows that, if they ever got together, she’d be different than the other women he dates. She’d want more… well, he would too. And now they’ll be living together for a couple weeks at least, sharing an apartment, sharing a bed… God, how are they gonna get through this without him giving himself away?

‘Mike,’ she says, tugging at his arm. He looks down at her, so beautiful bundled up in her sweater and jacket, her cheeks flushed from the cold wind. ‘We’re here.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ he says, forcing a grin as he opens the door to the Blockbuster. ‘So, what movie are we gonna pick?’

‘Why don’t we each pick one?’

‘As long as you don’t pick out some boring chick-flick or a film where I’m gonna have to read,’ he says, and her eyes crinkle in a reluctant smile.

‘Deal.’

She goes to look at movies and he watches her as she strolls through the aisles, looking for a movie. He finally turns away from her, looking for a movie of his own. He picks up _The Maltese Falcon_ at random and then goes to find her. She’s deliberating over two movies, but chooses one just as he approaches her.

‘What did you pick?’ he asks curiously.

‘ _Out of Africa_ ,’ she responds. ‘What about you?’

‘ _The Maltese Falcon_.’

She smiles up at him, looking more relaxed now. She takes his hand and his heart gives a leap before he curses himself inwardly; it doesn’t mean anything. ‘I love that movie.’

‘Me too,’ he agrees. ‘Ready to go?’

She nods and they walk up to the counter to pay for their movies. He picks them up and this time she tucks her arm into his, her soft hand resting gently on his forearm. He dips his head to kiss her hair, inhaling her scent, and he sees a small, secret smile flit across her face. Does he maybe--maybe--have a chance? But the smile disappears quickly--he probably imagined it.

‘Let’s go,’ she says, and they leave the store together.

‘I’ll call Don when we get back, if you want to review those files you mentioned earlier,’ he offers, picturing her curled up on the sofa, a blanket tucked around her knees.

‘Thanks,’ she replies, glancing up at him. ‘I’ll start preparing dinner before we go over to Nora’s.’

‘I’d like to help,’ he offers.

‘Really?’ she asks, surprised. ‘That would be nice.’

‘Yeah--just let me know what I can do.’

They reach their building and she moves closer to him as they walk through the lobby, nodding at the doorman. He feels awkward in this situation--these guys come from the same sort of background he does, and now they’re waiting on him.

He presses the button for their floor, digging his keys out of his pocket. She lets go of his arm and takes the videos from him as he opens the door to the apartment. She precedes him and he watches her step into the foyer, captivated by her slim legs, her narrow waist, her graceful walk.

Shaking his head, he steps into the kitchen, hearing her in the living room.

‘I’m gonna call Donny,’ he calls out to her.

‘Okay,’ she calls back. He picks up the phone and dials his number.

‘Cragen,’ his captain’s gruff voice barks.

‘Hey, it’s Mike.’

‘I was wondering when you were gonna call. How’s life at Beekman Place?’

‘Good--we’ve finished unpacking and even met one of the suspects already--Nora Robinson. We’re goin’ over to her apartment for a glass of wine in about an hour. She’s on the same floor as us.’

‘Great work. And how’s Liz taking it?’

He lowers his voice as he responds. ‘She’s a bit nervous, I think, but she’s doing well. It’s good that we’re meetin’ some of the neighbors today--a very low-key way to ease her into it.’

‘Good. Well, keep me updated, and be sure to write up your notes.’

‘Will do,’ he says, and hangs up. He looks at his watch and notes the time--five o’clock, so they have about an hour before they need to head over to Nora’s. He walks through to the living room, seeing her bent over papers spread out on the coffee table. Her hair is neatly tied back at the nape of her neck and she is studying her files intently, her pencil tapping lightly on the table.

‘Donny says great work and to make sure we write up our reports at the end of every day.’

‘Good,’ she says, looking up at him to smile. There’s something about her that makes his stomach flip over and he can’t help but smile back.

‘Do you want some help starting dinner?’

She looks down at her watch then closes her files with a snap. ‘Yes, please.’

 

Cooking with her is far more fun than cooking alone. He’s never really tried complicated recipes--although he can make a mean breakfast and a halfway decent Irish stew. She relaxes as they cook, explaining that she learned this particular recipe when she was studying abroad in France. She looks comfortable, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of her wrist as she grins at him.

‘You’re much better at this than I thought you’d be,’ she admits. ‘So, we’ll let this simmer for an hour and a half.’ She sets a timer and sets it down on the counter.

‘I’ll clean up if you wanna get changed,’ he offers, and she smiles at him again.

‘Thanks, Mike.’

He watches her walk into their bedroom before starting to wash the dishes, stacking them in the drying rack as she walks back out of the bedroom, dressed in jeans and a turtleneck sweater. Her auburn hair is brushed neatly and she’s wearing pearl earrings and a creamy pink lipstick. She looks good--this is the first time he’s seen her in jeans, and it’s definitely a change to see her dressed so casually.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asks, looking at him intently.

‘Nothin’,’ he replies. ‘You ready to go?’

‘Yes,’ she agrees, picking up the timer. ‘Do you have the keys?’

‘Yeah. Let’s go.’ For the second time today she reaches out for him--tentatively, yes, but still. They walk out of the apartment and down the hall to Nora’s, rapping on her door. She flings it open immediately.

‘Welcome!’ she cries. ‘Come on in.’

He settles his hand on her waist as he follows her into the apartment. It’s the same layout as there, and Nora suggests they sit down on the sofa while she brings the wine. Liz sits down first and he sits next to her. For a brief moment she leans into him, resting comfortably against him, her hip pressing against his. His arm tightens around her shoulder and she looks at him, her eyes unreadable. It takes everything he can to not reach up and touch her cheek--but then Nora comes back into the room and the moment is over.

‘I hope you like Merlot,’ she says, handing them glasses.

‘Thank you,’ Liz says. ‘And thank you so much for inviting us over--it’s very kind of you.’

‘Of course!’ Nora perches on an armchair across from them. ‘So, tell me about yourselves.’

‘Well, I’m a psychologist and Mike is a writer,’ Liz begins. ‘We were married a few weeks ago and just got back from our honeymoon in Aspen.’

‘Ooh, fantastic! I love Aspen,’ she says. ‘It’s so nice this time of year.’

‘Yes it is,’ she agrees. ‘But we are looking forward to settling here. I’ve always loved this building.’

‘Me too. My parents bought me my apartment when I graduated NYU. I work at the UN as a translator so it’s a very easy commute.’

He leans back and watches Liz as she draws her out. She’s always been a good listener but she is very good at this--he knows that more than anyone. It makes sense--this is her job, getting information from people reluctant, for a variety of reasons, to give it. He’s careful to pay attention to everything she says--that her parents are rich but estranged, that she broke up with a boyfriend recently, that she works long but irregular hours and travels. He makes the appropriate noises, encouraging her to talk more about her life.

After Nora finishes her first glass of wine she pours herself a second, settling back into her chair to look at them carefully. He shifts under her scrutiny and Liz rests a gentle hand on his knee, stilling his movements.

‘So, Michael, tell me more about yourself. You’re a writer?’

He nods, setting down his empty glass of wine. ‘Yeah. I’ve been working on a crime drama--still researching it, though.’

‘That sounds great. If you need anyone to read through your drafts, let me know.’ She has deep dimples when she smiles, he notes, and her brown eyes are warm.

‘Thanks, but Liz is the only one who reads over my work before my editor does,’ he says, tempering his dismissal with a smile.

Before they say anything else the timer Liz brought with her rings.

‘I’m so sorry--that means the _coq au vin_ is ready,’ she says, setting her glass down and standing. ‘Thank you so much for inviting us over--you must visit us next week once we’ve finished unpacking.’

Nora stands and he does too, belatedly. He extends his hand to shake hers and they say their goodbyes before they leave Nora’s apartment. 

They both wait to speak until their door is closed and locked behind them. He follows her into the kitchen, where she turns off the stove and checks on the food.

‘Perfect,’ she says with satisfaction. ‘Mike, will you take the salad out of the fridge, please? I’ll get the bread and then we can eat.’

‘Sure,’ he agrees, doing as he’s asked. She brings the _coq au vin_ out to their little dining area and sets the table quickly while he pours them each a generous glass of wine. Finally they take their seats and looks at each other.

He picks up his glass of wine and toasts her. ‘Here’s to the Cavanaughs.’

She raises an eyebrow but clinks her glass against his. The first few minutes of the meal are absorbed with eating--and their dinner is delicious--before they turn to discussing their interaction with Nora.

‘You’re good at this,’ he blurts out, and she looks up at him.

‘Good at what?’

‘Gettin’ people to tell you what you want to know. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.’

She picks up her wineglass and takes another sip. ‘Why shouldn’t you be surprised?’

He shrugs, feeling like he’s talked himself into a topic he doesn’t want to discuss. He doesn’t like remembering why she knows him so well--that knowledge is both a comfort and a liability. He knows he doesn’t have to explain himself to her but he also knows that she sometimes has a better sense of what he does and why he does it than he does.

‘You’re a good listener,’ he says at last, and she smiles.

‘So what are your thoughts on Nora?’

‘I’d like to reserve my judgement until we’ve met some of the other suspects, but she does match your profile in a few key ways--flexible schedule, recent life-changing event--that sort of thing.’

She nods. ‘If I was interviewing her it would be easier to make a definitive statement, but since I’m supposed to be her neighbor and not her therapist, I don’t think I can say anything one way or the other. Well, not yet.’

He nods. ‘Yeah. Well, that was a good idea you had to invite her over next week.’

‘Reciprocity. That’s what makes this world go round--she invited us, so we owe her for next time. We’ll likely have to do a lot of entertaining--we’ll need to get some more liquor.’

‘We can do that tomorrow,’ he replies, dipping a piece of bread in the leftover sauce from the chicken. ‘This was delicious, Liz.’

‘Thank you,’ she says, smiling. ‘I appreciate that.’

He sits back in his seat, sipping wine as she finishes her dinner.

‘I’ll clean up,’ he offers.

‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘Should I start writing that report for Don?’

He gathers their plates. ‘No--I’ll do it. Do you still have work to do?’

‘Yes, I do have a report I should finish up.’

‘Great. So I’ll clean up and write the report, then we can watch a movie?’

She nods, resting a hand on his arm briefly as she walks past him to the living room. He brings their plates to the sink, washing up. When he rejoins her in the living room, she once again has her papers spread out on the coffee table.

She glances up at him as he sits down on the couch, flipping open his notebook to write today’s report. It takes some time--he wants to be detailed, to do a good job. Information is key to solving cases, after all, and this one is so important to Liz.

He finishes up his report just as Liz closes her files, twisting around to look at him. ‘Are you done?’

‘Yep. What about you?’

‘Me too,’ she says, closing her files.

‘Great. How about we get the movie started?’ he suggests.

She nods. ‘My choice or yours?’

‘Yours. It looks good.’

She smiles at him. ‘I think the VCR is in the bedroom. Do you want me to move it in here?’

‘No!’ he says quickly, catching her sharp, interested look. ‘I think it’ll be more comfortable to watch in there. As nice as this furniture is it doesn’t do much for relaxing.’

She raises an eyebrow but agrees. ‘In that case, I’m going to change--is that all right?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘Me too.’

‘I’ll take the bathroom, then.’

‘Great.’

He follows her into the bedroom, taking quick glances at her as she extracts something silky from her drawer, clutching it tightly to her stomach as she walks to the bathroom. He pulls out a pair of pyjama pants--purchased for this operation as he generally only wears boxers--and changes quickly, yanking his clothes off and slipping a tshirt on over his head. She is in the bathroom for another few minutes before she emerges, blushing slightly as she steps back into the room wearing a short silk nightgown that stops inches above her knees. It’s black and skims every curve; his mouth goes dry as he looks at her, relieved that he’s not just wearing his boxers. He swallows and looks into her eyes.

‘Never would’ve pegged you for the negligee type, Liz,’ he quips, trying to regain some sense of control over the situation.

‘Somehow I doubt that my choice of nightwear is high on your list of thoughts,’ she replies, raising an eyebrow as she steps over to the television. ‘Are you ready to watch the movie?’

‘I’ll get us some more wine,’ he says first, excusing himself. In the kitchen he busies himself opening another bottle, trying to think of something, anything but her amazing legs, her gorgeous figure. He carries the two glasses and the bottle back to the bedroom, noting with disappointment that she’s tucked demurely under the covers, a blanket now hiding her body from view. She’s pressed play on the movie and he joins her in bed, handing her a glass of wine as he gets under the covers too.

This feels so strange--good, but strange. The last person he’d spent an evening like this with was Maggie, but they haven’t been together for about a year now, maybe eighteen months. He couldn’t give her what she wanted. It feels good to have Liz here next to him, even if they aren’t together. He darts a glance over at her, captivated by the film, and turns his attention back to the movie.

It’s actually really good. The music is amazing--he’s not really one for classical, but this is different, conveying the broad sweep of land in Kenya. When Robert Redford takes Meryl Streep into his arms he hears her sigh and he wants, more than anything, to kiss her. She does move slightly closer to him and as the movie progresses he wraps an arm around her, his thumb gently caressing the bare skin of her upper arm. She cries at the end--silently, and he wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t paying attention to her--and he raises his hand to wipe the tears away.

‘I’m silly,’ she says, smiling weakly. ‘I’ve seen this movie probably a hundred times and it always gets to me.’

He kisses her forehead again and once again she smiles that small, secret smile, though it disappears as she yawns enormously when the credits begin to roll. She moves away from him as the tape comes to an end, yawning again, climbing out of bed to turn off the television. He collects their wine glasses and the empty bottle, bringing them into the kitchen, getting them each a glass of water. When he returns she’s in the bathroom and he can hear her brushing her teeth. She emerges a few minutes later and climbs into bed.

‘Do you mind if I use the bathroom?’ he asks.

‘No, of course not,’ she replies, snuggling under the sheets. By the time he emerges, she’s turned off her light and is sleeping softly, turned away from him. He climbs back into bed, lying on his back next to her. Despite the exhaustion of the past few days, preparing for this, he’s filled with unease. How bizarre it is to be sleeping next to someone who doesn’t want him, who wouldn’t ever want him. He closes his eyes, sighing deeply.

 

His eyes pop open at the touch of a hand on his cheek. Liz smiles down at him, looking so very beautiful in the early morning light, and he looks back at her in surprise.

‘Good morning, my darling,’ she says, voice husky, bending down to kiss him. She feels so good, her soft lips moving against his, that he doesn’t want to question it. He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her down on top of him, wanting to feel her, all of her. She laughs in surprise, allowing him to roll her onto her back, embracing him tightly. She kisses him again, deeply this time, and he groans low in his throat at the feel of her body beneath him.

‘Don’t I get a good morning kiss?’ she asks, raising an eyebrow, and he grins down at her, dipping his head to kiss her passionately. She pulls him close, arching her back to press more fully against him, and he groans again.

‘You feel so good, honey,’ he admits, running a hand up her thigh, her skin like velvet, and she giggles.

‘You don’t feel so bad yourself,’ she replies, kissing him again. ‘Mm, Mike…’

The alarm clock rings and he wakes up with a start, completely disoriented. It felt so real… 

She stirs and he realizes he’s rolled over to her side of the bed in the night. His arm is draped over her slender waist and she is facing him, waking up slowly, her breath warm on his shoulder. He knows he should move away from her or at least turn off the alarm clock but he can’t. As she finally wakes up she looks at him, surprised, and sits up in a rush. He’d get up too but his dream has left him with an unfortunate side effect.

She slides out of bed, avoiding his eyes as she blushes profusely, and grabs her robe from the closet, disappearing into the bathroom.

‘Fuck.’


	5. Chapter 5

She emerges from the bathroom a half hour later, bundled up in her robe, her hair slicked back from her shower.

‘I’m done with the bathroom,’ she says lightly, avoiding his gaze as she rummages in her drawers.

‘Liz,’ he begins, and he watches her shoulders as they tense. He revises his planned statement. ‘I made some coffee.’

‘Thank you,’ she says, relaxing again. She clearly doesn’t wish to discuss this and he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

He climbs out of bed again, setting down his coffee, and steps into the bathroom. She’s left it incredibly neat, with barely a sign she’s been there, and he closes the door behind him. He turns on the shower, stripping quickly, leaving his clothes on the bathroom floor. He makes the shower significantly colder than is comfortable in an attempt to suppress the remaining desire from his dream. But God, she felt so good… 

When he gets out of the shower he is mostly recovered, though the thought of her still has a lingering effect on him. He wants her; he wants to be with her so badly, and this is ridiculous. He’s so close to her and yet she’s so far away.

It’s not supposed to be like this. He’s not supposed to feel like this about her--why can’t he feel like this about someone who cares about him, like Maggie or any of the half a dozen women he’s dated seriously over the past year? Why did it have to be Liz, who fled their bed this morning when she woke up with his arm around her waist? How are they going to deal with that? What if this happens every morning? It’s not like he can help it--Liz would be the first to tell him about the effects of the subconscious.

He needs to stop feeling like this. He needs to stop imagining her when he’s in bed with someone else. He needs to stop imagining her period. He has however the hell long they have in this assignment, and then that’s it--he’s gonna stop.

When he dries off and dresses in jeans and one of the new shirts Liz picked out for him, he leaves the bedroom. She’s curled up in the armchair by the fireplace, reading a book, a cup of coffee cradled in her hand. Passing by her, he pours himself another cup of coffee and grabs a pastry, taking the other armchair. Glancing at her, seeing her dark head turned stubbornly away, he sets down his breakfast and goes to collect their notes from the bedroom, flipping through their suspect list for the twentieth time.

He can’t stop looking at her over the notes. She looks tense again--not as tense as she was yesterday morning, but certainly not comfortable.

‘Peter wants us to come for lunch today,’ she says at last, still turned away from him. ‘You need to meet Miranda.’

‘Okay,’ he agrees. ‘When are we going up?’

‘11:30.’

He nods, still watching her. ‘Did you want to go out, get some booze like you suggested last night?’

She sets down her book and turns to look at him. ‘All right.’ She collects their dirty dishes and puts them in the dishwasher as he get their coats. When she joins him in the living room, he helps her into her coat, noting her brief look of surprise. As he settles her coat on her shoulders, his fingers brush against the nape of her neck. He wants to kiss her there, to ease her coat off and pull her back against him, bringing her to bed. As it is, he brushes her hair away from her neck, ostensibly freeing it from the collar of her jacket.

‘About this morning--’ she begins, her voice oddly tentative. His hand stills, resting on her shoulder. ‘I haven’t slept with anyone for a long time. I mean--I’m not used to sharing a bed with anyone.’

He can see her reflection in the glass of the picture frame on the wall in front of them; her eyes are dropped and she’s blushing.

He squeezes her shoulder, surprised and touched that she confided in him. ‘My fault,’ he says briefly. ‘It’s okay, Liz. Hey, I can think of worse ways to wake up.’

The tension in her shoulders eases at his joke and he drops his hand, caressing her upper arm briefly before he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

‘You ready to go?’ he asks, and she nods, finally turning around to look at him.

‘We should take the car,’ she says, rummaging through her pockets for her car keys. ‘We’ll need to buy a lot.’

‘Sure,’ he agrees, relieved to see her relaxing again. ‘Let’s go, babe.’

He takes her hand and they leave the apartment, running straight into Nora again.

‘Hi!’ she exclaims. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

His hand grips Liz’s tighter as she thanks Nora again for having them over.

‘We’re just going out to restock our bar, but we’d love to have you over next week.’

‘Sounds great--I should be around!’ she replies. The elevator doors open in the lobby and they step out.

‘Will you get the car, darling?’ Liz asks him, her choice of endearment once again recalling his dream.

‘Sure, babe.’ He takes the keys from her, kissing her temple. As annoying as Nora seems--and if she keeps popping up every two seconds she’ll be very annoying--he likes being able to touch her, to kiss her, with impunity.

‘You’re so sweet together,’ he hears Nora say, and he turns around to see Liz’s reaction.

She’s turned away from him but he hears her say, very softly, ‘I’m so lucky to have him. He’s the most wonderful man I’ve ever known.’

He wants to stop, wants to turn around and take her into his arms, to kiss her. She sounds so genuine, so sincere. She didn’t have to say that--she could have just said thank you. What if she means it? He laughs bitterly to himself--no, she doesn’t mean it. Hell, he’s hardly a wonderful man, let alone the most wonderful she’s ever known. He needs to stop this--she’s just acting, and she’s damn good at it. He keeps walking, leaning on the doorman’s desk to chat with him--Joey, he remembers, a stout mid-fifties Italian man who reminds him of Phil.

‘Good morning, Mr. Cavanaugh,’ he says. ‘How can I help you?’

‘Hey, Joey. We just wanted to pick up the car--we need to do some shopping,’ he says, feeling awkward asking for this.

‘Of course. Let me call down to the garage.’ He does so and then turns back to him. ‘Congratulations on your marriage--when Mr. deVries told us that Miss Elizabeth was married and moving into the building we were all so excited.’

‘You’ve known her a long time, then?’ he asks.

‘All her life, practically. Started working here when she was a kid. She’s always been so nice, and we’re thrilled to have her living in the building now. We hope you both will be very happy.’

His heart clenches at his words. If this was real, if they were really together, he would be touched that she was so well-loved. And even though they’re not he’s relieved--there’s someone in this building who is threatening people and at least the doormen will also be looking out for her.

‘I am surprised she seems to be friends with Ms. Robinson, though,’ Joey continues.

His hackles rise immediately and he leans forward, faking nonchalance. ‘I wouldn’t say she’s friends with her--we’ve just run into her a couple times.’

‘Ah,’ Joey says.

‘Why, though?’

He shrugs, not offering a response. He’s going to have to work on him, or maybe have Liz talk to him. He knows that doormen have a lot of information--cultivating them would be very worthwhile.

‘The car’s here,’ Liz calls from the door. He nods to Joey and walks to her, ignoring Nora, wrapping an arm around her waist as she smiles up at him. For a brief moment he can imagine that this is real, and he kisses her, heedless of their audience. She responds and his heart leaps as she brings one hand up to touch his cheek. When she breaks the kiss she looks up at him, eyes soft and startled, lips parted.

‘If we don’t get a move on we’ll be late for lunch,’ she says, looking away, and he nods.

‘I’ll drive,’ he says, and they bid goodbye to Nora, leaving the lobby.

They get into the car, and Liz directs him to a liquor store ten blocks up. He pulls into a spot on the side street and they climb out of the car.

‘You prefer Irish whiskey, don’t you?’ she asks.

‘Yeah, Bushmills,’ he says, surprised she remembers though of course it is part of their assignment.

‘We’ll get some, then--and gin, vodka, vermouth, and scotch,’ she continues, loading him down with bottles. She picks up several bottles of tonic water and soda water, a jar of olives, and some lemons, and then they go to check out, the clerk carefully stowing the bottles in a box for easy transportation. She also picks out half a dozen bottles of wine, white and red, and he adds a case of beer. She asks for the assistance of the other clerk and receives it to stow their purchases in the car.

‘That didn’t take long,’ he says. ‘Do we need anything else?’

‘No, I think we have everything,’ she replies, closing the trunk of the car. ‘We should go back, anyway--we only have a half hour before lunch and I want to change.’

‘What should I wear?’ he asks, turning on the car.

‘Your navy slacks and a white shirt?’ she suggests. ‘Not jeans.’

‘Okay.’ He pulls out of their spot and starts driving back to the apartment. She has one leg tucked up under her and her elbow rests on the armrest as she looks at him. ‘I was talkin’ to Joey,’ he begins, catching her gaze for a moment. ‘He asked if you were friends with Nora and was pretty relieved when I said we’d just met her.’

‘Did he say why?’ she asks, sitting upright.

‘No--I don’t think he’s gonna talk to me about it. Maybe he’ll talk to you.’

She nods. ‘Okay. I’ll talk to him later.’

‘Thanks, Liz.’

She reaches out and gently rests her hand on his forearm. ‘Thank you, Mike. This assignment is far less intimidating with you by my side.’

 _By her side_ … he swallows back the desire to say that he’d stay by her side forever.

‘Of course, babe,’ he replies. ‘And hey--I’d rather be undercover with you than anyone else.’

She squeezes his arm lightly as he pulls up to the building.

‘It’s nearly time for lunch,’ she says.

He nods. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting Miranda.’

‘She is, too.’

Joey helps them with their purchases and they bring them upstairs. He unpacks their purchases while she gets changed, then he does. She takes his hand as they wait for the elevator, looking nervous. He’s so unused to being able to tell what she thinks and feels that it disconcerts him--is he getting better at this, is she letting her guard down, or is she feeling things so strongly it’s impossible to hide them? When they step inside, she pushes the button for the penthouse and he raises an eyebrow, whistling silently. He can only imagine what it looks like--their own apartment is enormous for a one-bedroom and the penthouse is probably massive.

The elevator doors open into their apartment--it is absolutely enormous and beautiful. He thought their apartment was nice but this is completely different. It looks like a museum, like nothing he’s ever seen before in real life. She drops his hand as they step inside, calling out for Miranda and Peter.

He watches her as she walks away from him, down the steps from the elevator and through the enormous room, finally following her. By the time he joins her in the other room--the library, he notes--she is embracing a slight silvery-blonde woman, her godfather standing by indulgently.

‘Mike!’ Peter says, approaching him with a hand outstretched. ‘Good to see you. How are you enjoying Beekman Place?’

‘It’s very nice--thanks for all your help,’ he replies, shaking his hand.

‘Mike, I’d like to introduce you to my partner, Miranda,’ he says, and Miranda turns away from Liz to look at him.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mike,’ she says, her voice gentle. She extends a hand to him and he takes it, looking into her clear blue eyes.

‘You too,’ he says, and she smiles at him.

‘I don’t know about you two, but I’m famished. Let’s go in to lunch.’

She leads the way, taking Liz’s arm and leaving him to walk in with Peter.

‘Miranda’s been fully appraised of the investigation--we met with your captain yesterday,’ Peter says. ‘How is it going?’

‘It’s going well, I think--we’re getting into the hang of it.’

‘Good. I hope that everything in the apartment is satisfactory.’

‘It’s great, thanks--we really appreciate it.’

‘And we appreciate what you’re doing for us.’

He shrugs, uncomfortable with his praise. ‘I’m just doing my job.’

Peter pauses before they enter the next room and regards him seriously. ‘Somehow I think this is above and beyond your job description.’

Did he guess why he agreed to this assignment? He forces himself not to flinch under his steady gaze.

‘Aren’t you joining us?’ Miranda’s lilting, amused voice calls. ‘We’re starving.’

Peter claps him on the back and they take their seats at the small round table, beautifully set. He is between Peter and Miranda and across from Liz, and he looks around, noting that they are in another living room with a beautiful view of the East River.

‘I hope you don’t mind that it’s informal,’ Miranda says, passing him the salad. ‘I thought it would be nicer this way.’

‘No, this is very nice,’ he says, helping himself to salad. ‘Thanks for having us.’

‘Well, I was very eager to meet you--and after all, we’re supposed to be quite good friends by this point,’ she jokes, smiling at him. ‘Are you enjoying the apartment so far? I hope everything is all right.’

‘Yeah, it’s great,’ he says, darting a quick look at Liz. She’s studying her salad with a feigned absorption and refuses to meet his gaze.

‘Good. So, tell me about yourself, Mike.’

He pauses for a moment, contemplating her question.

‘Not your persona,’ she laughs, seeing his confusion. ‘Who you actually are.’

‘Well, I’m a cop,’ he starts, wincing at his lame beginning. ‘I studied police science at the Academy and I’ve been a homicide detective for the past three years.’

‘And where did you grow up?’

Liz jerks her head up to look at him, concern in her eyes.

‘The Lower East Side--my dad was a cop too,’ he says briefly, and he looks across to Liz, who changes the subject abruptly.

‘Mike is a huge Yankees fan, Peter,’ she says.

‘Really? I’m glad you’re not a Mets fan--I couldn’t approve of you as a son-in-law if you were,’ he laughs, and he notices that Liz relaxes unconsciously. She’s nervous--why is she so nervous? It’s not like this means anything to her--like he said to Peter, this is his job. Even if they don’t like him they can pretend for a while. He drags his attention back to her godfather as he says, ‘How do you like their chances this year?’

This is much easier than talking about his life and he relaxes too, trying to focus on Peter instead of continuously looking at Liz. He is surprisingly easy to talk to once he forgets who he is--the Chairman of one of the most respected banks in New York, a good friend to the Commissioner… he is an interesting guy and perfectly happy to spend lunch talking about sports. Miranda excuses herself and brings back salmon and asparagus, all simply prepared but delicious, and he eats heartily. He notices, however, that Liz picks at her food, and Miranda and Peter notice too.

‘Did you want something else to eat, Liz?’ Miranda asks her in a low voice, clearly concerned.

‘I’m fine, Miranda. I had a big breakfast.’

He knows she’s lying--she didn’t have anything but coffee, and not much of that. Is this assignment really so distasteful to her that she can’t even eat? Thinking back, she barely ate any dinner either.

‘I’ll help clear,’ she says, taking her plate and Miranda’s, obscuring how little she’s eaten. Miranda exchanges a meaningful glance with Peter and follows Liz into the kitchen, carrying the other two plates.

‘Can I help with anything?’ he offers, feeling suddenly ill at ease.

‘I think that Miranda wants to have a chat with Liz--she’s been in Paris, you know, and hasn’t seen her for a while. Why don’t we go sit down in the library? It’s more comfortable.’

He nods and follows Peter back into the library.

‘Do you want something to drink? Scotch, a beer?’

‘A beer would be great,’ he says, taking the seat Peter indicates. He hands him a beer from the small fridge built into the bar and sits down in the armchair across from him. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, feeling Peter’s penetrating gaze once again.

‘We’ve had a good response for the party--about fifty guests,’ Peter says.

He’s taken aback--fifty people? Well, he guesses they can fit everyone in here. ‘We appreciate it.’

‘We’re happy to do it. It’s a horrible thing, these attacks--and we’re reluctant to have Liz involved in this, as I’m sure you can imagine.’

He nods slowly. ‘I’m sure. But she’s gonna be fine--I promise she’ll be all right. We need her, though--as you know, the Commissioner wants this handled quietly. We need her help with that… she’s an excellent profiler, really good at getting people to say what they don’t necessarily want to.’

He laughs. ‘That’s true. She always was like that, even as a girl.’

‘What was she like?’ he asks curiously.

He leans back and thinks. ‘Very clever, always wanting to be the smartest or the best. She always had her nose in a book unless she was sailing. And she laughed a lot.’ He picks up a photograph from the side table and hands it to him.

He accepts it, looking at the photograph closely. She’s young, maybe seven or eight and missing her two front teeth, her arms around Peter’s neck as they stand on the beach, grinning into the camera. She looks so happy, filled with joy. He hands the photograph back to Peter.

‘I’ll give you a list of the guests for the party,’ he says, standing up and setting the photograph back on the side table. He walks over to the desk in the corner and extracts a few papers, then comes back and hands it to him. ‘I’ll leave you to look that over--I’ll be right back.’

Peter strides off and he watches him until he disappears from sight. Turning his attention to the guest list, he notes that all but five of the suspects will be in attendance.

They haven’t returned when he finishes looking at the list and so he leaves it on the side table and walks around the library, studying the books on the shelves and the pictures there. There are lots of Liz throughout her life--at her graduation with two people he presumes are her parents; a recent photograph at Christmas with a slew of men who resemble her greatly--cousins, perhaps?; as a teenager on the beach.

He hears footsteps approaching and he turns to see Peter walking back into the room.

‘Liz is just going to spend a bit more time with Miranda--they are planning her parents’ anniversary dinner next month.’

‘Ah, okay,’ he says awkwardly, sensing that Peter is lying and concerned about Liz. ‘Should I wait or…?’

‘They’re going to be a while, I think. You know, why don’t we head down to the Garden and watch the game?’

‘Really?’ he asks in surprise.

‘Yes--I know it starts in half an hour but we should make it if we take a cab. Anyway, the bank has a box and we should be fine.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ he agrees with alacrity. The Knicks are playing the Bulls today and it promises to be a good game. ‘I need to get my coat--should I meet you in the lobby?’

‘Perfect. I’ll tell the girls and meet you downstairs.’

He nods, wanting to say that if Liz wants him to stay he will do so, happily, but knowing that’s not his place. He sets down his empty beer bottle and walks to the elevator, waiting for it as Peter’s footsteps recede behind him.


End file.
